crazy girls

Well, I was going to either spend some time editing the book tonight or snuggling up with Hubby on the sofa to watch a DVD and I have ended up doing neither, so decided to write to you instead.

Hubby is out at the Red Rooster. He said that he was going for a quick one after work and would be home in time for the kids' bedtime. No, I didn't believe him either. The Red Rooster is a small bar off a side street, right next to the 'Crazy Girls' dance bar. And guess what, the picture on the sign outside the Crazy Girls bar shows the face of that Russian bird who used to play tennis before shacking up with Enrico Iglesias (apologies for poor spelling). Oh, you know the one I mean. I can't remember her name but she has long blonde hair and what my mother would describe as 'come hither' eyes. Anyway, it seems she is now working just down the road from the Gurkha camp in Kathmandu. Who would have thought? Wonder if Nepal is going to become a repositary for ex-sporting totty? Perhaps we'll see Sharon Davies serving dahl at the Summit Hotel, or Fatima Whitbread driving the school bus. Who knows?

Yes, so anyway, that's where Hubby is, consorting with clapped-out tennis totty and a half empty glass of whisky, no doubt. Which means the cuddling and DVD is on hold.

And the book? Well, I have spent a frustratingly long time trying to create Christmas cards via an online photo thingy, but the internet connection is just pants tonight, so the whole project was doomed to frustration and eventual failure. So, if you don't get a Christmas card from me then soz. Oh, and incidentally, if you do want a Christmas card from me, then you will probably need to let me know your address. My address book is shockingly out of date (as is my hairstyle and taste in underwear - but I digress).

The reason I didn't get any book editing done this morning is that I had to go on a school trip with the Twins. I hadn't actually volunteered for it, but had let the class teacher know that I could be available if she was desperate. She was, unfortunately (apparently one of the teaching assistants was at a funeral and the other one couldn't go because she had her period and was therefore 'unclean' and not allowed to go to temple - yeah, right, love, we have all used that one to get out of PE; I think she just knew what was in store and got her mum to write a note).

We took them all to a temple in Patan. I had both the Twins in my group, and two other little girls. Their class teacher gave us an activity sheet and told us to get on with it. Have you ever tried getting disinterested four-year-olds to count how many different types of butter lamps they can see? Or to let the scary-looking smelly old man put tikka on their foreheads? Sadly I think my group were distinctly underwhelmed by the whole cultural/religious thing, and just complained about feeling hungry.

Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a teacher, as I did notice another mum's group high-fiving and being congratulated on being 'great temple detectives!'

I was just relieved when it was all over. If I get asked to go next week I might have to get out of it somehow, I don't know, maybe by chucking myself under a Tata truck or getting swine flu. Both of which would be preferable options to another morning on a foundation class trip.

ps. What was that tennis player's name? Ivana? It will bug me all night now...